


i could be with anyone

by wildandfluorescent



Category: Teen Power Inc | Raven Hill Mysteries - Emily Rodda
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2829425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildandfluorescent/pseuds/wildandfluorescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jesus, Rich,” Gwen sighs, taking a glass from Richelle’s hand “It’s just a bit of fun. If he calls you, just say you’re busy. If he doesn’t, then you’re off the hook. Besides, I’m sure getting to know an old high school friend again wouldn’t be so bad.”</p><p>Or, how Tom and Richelle meet again nine years after graduation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i could be with anyone

The first time Richelle Brinkley sees Tom Moysten after she leaves Raven Hill is when she is in a shitty pub, tipsy, and twenty-seven years old.

It’s not the kind of place Richelle usually spends her time, but it’s her friend Charlotte’s birthday, and she insisted on this place, god knows why. The boys are gross and sexist, the tables are sticky, and it smells like stale corn chips, sweat, and cheap beer. She’s not yet drunk enough to appreciate the ambience of the place or whatever, which is the only reason she allows Gwen to drag her to the bar to get more drinks.

Gwen is Richelle’s unofficial best friend, and has been for the past five years. She’s a lot like Richelle’s unofficial best friend from high school, Nick, in the sense that she’s smart, rich, snarky and just as pretty as Richelle. She doesn’t own as many sunglasses and is less put together than Nick, but in a lot of ways, that’s a blessing. Gwen is the perfect companion for a twenty-seven year old Richelle, even if she gets them into complicated situations and refuses to apologise.

Gwen tells the bartender their order, whilst Richelle leans against the bar, scanning the pub for anyone who looks halfway decent. She knows she’d be a lot happier with the current state of her life if she had a boyfriend, which her friend Tallulah says is unhealthy, but really, Richelle is _so tired_ of being single.

But this place doesn’t look like it’s full of potential beaus, and she’s about to tell Gwen that she wants to bail before another sleaze hits on them or Charlotte suggests they do shots, when a group of drunken twenty-somethings walk past them. Or stumble, in the case of the guy that bumps into Richelle, spilling some beer on her feet.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” she shrieks, partly out of anger and partly because it’s near impossible to be heard over this awful Australian rock music. The guy turns to face her, and she’s ready to hear an apology and maybe demand some compensation from him, because she deserves it. Having shoes that smell like beer is not exactly fashionable.

Instead, all the guy gives her is a confused look and a “Richelle?”

It takes her several seconds to register who it is, several seconds filled with possible biting retorts and an urge to throw a drink in his face. When she does figure out who it is, though, she feels even more irritated than before, because the last thing she needs right now is to talk to people from high school.

“Tom Moysten,” she snaps, narrowing her eyes “You _would_ manage to spill your drink all over someone.”

“It’s just your shoes,” Tom points out, and Richelle’s frown deepens. He grins slightly, holding up his hands, one still clutching the half empty glass of beer “Alright, alright. Sorry.”

To his credit, Tom does look sorry, although Richelle can’t figure out if it’s because he genuinely is or he’s just scared of her. Both, probably. She opens her mouth to reply, to demand he buy her a drink at the very least, when Gwen notices them.

“Do you two know each other?” She prompts, looking Tom up and down. She looks as if she’s ready to start flirting if the answer is ‘no’, which annoys Richelle. Gwen is her friend, and should not be prepared to hit on guys from high school who spill their drinks on her.

“ _Knew_ each other,” Richelle says tightly, glaring at Tom.

“High school,” Tom adds, rolling his eyes at Richelle before giving Gwen a lazy grin “We were, ah, friends.” He doesn’t seem certain about labelling them as that, but to be fair, Richelle can’t remember a time they ever referred to each other as friends. She always figured they just hung out because they had mutual friends, and almost died together a few times.

“Huh. Of all of the gin joints,” Gwen grins, shooting Richelle a wink. Richelle raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t have a chance to comment before Gwen shoves their drinks into her hands, and begins digging around in her bag.

“Gwen,” Richelle begins pointedly, refusing to look at Tom again “We should probably get back to Charlotte and Tallulah. Or _leave_.”

Gwen ignores her, pulling a pen out of her bag and grabbing Tom’s free arm. She quickly scrawls something on his hand, much to Richelle’s annoyance and Tom’s confusion. When she pulls away, she’s smirking, and it appears she’s gotten them into another complicated situation. Or rather, she’s gotten Richelle into one, and doesn’t look as if she’s going to apologise.

“It’s her number,” Gwen tells him, nodding her head in Richelle’s direction “Give her a call if you’d like to get to know her again.”

The blonde shoots a horrified look at Gwen, because she doesn’t need – nor want – Thomas Moysten back in her life. He’s messy and insensitive and too tall and reminds her of all the bad things about Raven Hill, like kidnapping and being held hostage and almost dying. Tom is a piece of her past she doesn’t want in her future.

Gwen tugs on Richelle’s arm and leads her away before she can say another word, and when they’re out of earshot, Richelle pulls away, glaring at her supposed best friend in the dim light.

“Jesus, Rich,” Gwen sighs, taking a glass from Richelle’s hand “It’s just a bit of fun. If he calls you, just say you’re busy. If he doesn’t, then you’re off the hook. Besides, I’m sure getting to know an old high school friend again wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Easy for you to say,” Richelle replies with a huff “Your high school friends were normal.”

Gwen just laughs and makes her way back over to their table, apparently finding this entire situation amusing. With a huff, Richelle glances back over her shoulder, but Tom has disappeared back into the crowd. She decides right at that moment that no matter what, she is never going to see Tom Moysten again.

* * *

Tom doesn’t call for another two weeks.

Richelle doesn’t wait around for his call, because she doesn’t wait around for boys to call, even if they’re ones she genuinely wants to see again. And Tom Moysten definitely isn’t.

But still, she finds it incredibly rude that he doesn’t even have the decency to call so she can turn him down. If someone – or their friend – gives you their number, you’re supposed to call. Its basic manners. Which Tom may lack, but Richelle still finds herself feeling irritated at him for what may very well be the thousandth time in her life. It’s been almost nine years since they graduated, and he’s still annoying her.

Exactly two weeks later, she’s leaving her favourite coffee shop when she gets a call from an unknown number. Frowning, she slides to accept without thinking twice, pressing the phone between her ear and shoulder.

“Hello?”

“Richelle?”

Richelle grimaces, moving to the side of the street so she can have this, hopefully short, conversation “Tom.”

“You don’t sound pleased to hear from me,” he remarks, and she rolls her eyes. Five seconds into the conversation and he’s already making sarcastic comments. She can’t imagine why Gwen thought giving Tom her number would be a good idea.

“It’s been two weeks,” she reminds him “And you spilt cheap beer over my feet.”

He laughs a little, and it sounds so familiar that Richelle actually feels the tiniest bit of nostalgia for the days when she saw him constantly, and they bickered at least once a day. Until she’s reminded of how much that laugh got on her nerves. “Right. Sorry about that. But I am willing to make it up to you.”

“You’re going to let me dump cheap beer all over you?” She replies sweetly, and she can see his stupid grin in response to that. God, she _hates_ Tom Moysten.

“Come on, Richelle, you know that wouldn’t be a good look. I was thinking more along the lines of I buy you coffee.”

“I’m sorry, are you asking me out on a date?” The idea is so ridiculous that Richelle can barely comprehend it. Richelle doesn’t date guys who spill alcohol all over her, and she certainly doesn’t go on dates with the likes of Tom. And surely, even he knows that a coffee date isn’t an appropriate response to the situation.

“What?” Tom coughs a little, and Richelle smirks “Don’t flatter yourself. I just figured this would be a nice way to repay the debt.”

There’s a bunch of things Richelle could say in response to that. She could snap at him for the _don’t flatter yourself_ comment, reject him entirely, demand a bill for her shoes instead, or just hang up altogether and never think about Tom Moysten again. She knows she’s more than capable of doing any of these things, and she’s tempted to, but she thinks about what Gwen said that night: _“I’m sure getting to know an old high school friend again wouldn’t be so bad,”_ and about the incident that she wants some sort of compensation for.

Against her better judgement, Richelle sighs, glancing down at the coffee cup in her hands “Next Saturday, 2 o’clock, The Daily Grind?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

The following Saturday, Richelle arrives at The Daily Grind at exactly 2:02pm to find Tom sitting in a booth, waiting for her. She’s surprised that he’s early, because most of the guys she meets up with are late for dates. Not that this is a date. Tom’s just paying her back. Nothing more.

She makes her way over to him, coming to a halt when she reaches his table. “ _Moysten_.”

“ _Princess_.”

She rolls her eyes. She hasn’t been called that in years, and it takes Tom Moysten approximately five seconds to bring the ‘nickname’ back. She slides into the seat across from him, studying him for several seconds. The last time they saw each other face to face, they were eighteen years old and fresh out of high school. Back then, he was tall and skinny and gangly and tripped over everything and just a general mess. He’d had potential to be attractive, she had noted, but he’d just gotten rid of the braces and still had a long way to go. Now, at twenty-seven, he’s, for lack of a better word, rather handsome. He’s still taller and skinner than all the guys she knows, but he seems more comfortable with himself, and his teeth are straight, and there’s no food spilled on him. Not that she’s going to tell him that.

“Admiring my beautiful face?” Tom asks her, snapping her back to reality. Richelle scoffs at his grin, although yes, that was exactly what she was doing. As if she’s not allowed to see what he looks like after not seeing each other for years. It’s natural curiosity.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She retorts with a smirk, and Tom lets out a laugh.

“Touché, Brinkley.”

They order their drinks, and he calls her coffee order ridiculous, but he doesn’t really have room to talk when he orders two croissants for himself.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want anything to eat?”

She shakes her head, tossing locks of hair over her shoulder “No. I had lunch an hour ago and watching you eat has always put me off food.”

“Come on, give a guy a chance. Maybe he’s learned some ‘manners’ over the almost decade.”

She stiffens a little at the reminder that it’s been ten years since she left high school and she’s still not where she wants to be in life, but quickly hides it, tilting her head to one side. “I doubt it.”

He shoots her another grin, because Tom’s almost always smiling, and she gives him a very small one back. They fall into silence until their drinks and Tom’s food arrives. She watches him, and although he stills spills things a little, he does seem to be in better shape than he was when they were eighteen.

Tom notices her watching him, and holds his hands out “Impressed?”

“By you? Never.”

They find themselves falling into conversation about all the simple stuff first. The weather, how their families are (Tiffany is married, Jason got a girl pregnant in high school and is now a dad; Tom hasn’t “officially” spoken to his mum and Brian at all this year), their current favourite things.

With Tom, it’s used to be somewhat awkward, because when they were teenagers, they never really hung out together, and were only really friends in the first place because of Liz. But now, she finds his presence familiar, and somewhat comforting. She still hates him, and is waiting for him to annoy her, but she can’t help but laugh at some of the things she says. He’s funnier than he used to be.

Eventually, the topic of the other four come up, although there’s really not much to say. Richelle hasn’t spoken to any of them in years, Nick and Liz included. She was never as naïve as Liz to think that they’d all be the best of friends forever, but she’d always assumed she’d at the very least keep those two in her life. Last she heard, Nick had taken over his dad’s business, much to his dislike, and Liz still lived in Raven Hill, but it’s been about three years since she was last updated.

Tom kept in touch with Sunny for a few years, because she was always his favourite (it was never specifically stated, but Richelle knows these things), but they lost touch after she moved to America at age twenty-three. He shrugs it off, because most people don’t keep in touch with their high school friends, but she understands how she’s feeling. When you almost die with a group of people multiple times, you start to assume they’re always going to be around to annoy you in some way.

She thinks this is part of the reason why she agreed to this, along with the free coffee. Tom’s an idiot, but he understands Richelle in ways Gwen never could, in ways only five people on earth can.

Richelle prompts him to tell him about where he’s at now, because last she heard, he was studying Art at ANU, and that was about seven years ago.

He tells her that he’s currently working as a cartoonist for a relatively unknown magazine, and got out of a four year relationship a few months ago, and is currently single. Living in a shitty apartment on the outskirts of the city, but he’s fine. He’s happy.

“What about you, Brinkley?” He asks, tearing a piece off his second croissant “What are you doing with your life? Are you a famous actress married to a millionaire yet?”

She pauses, glancing down and staring at the remainder of her coffee. She remembers being a teenager and being full of grand plans that were so un-Raven Hill, determined to be better than that town. She’s since learned that just because you’re the prettiest, most talented, the very best in a small town doesn’t mean you’re the prettiest, most talented, the very best in the big city.

She sighs, looking back up at him and straightening her shoulders. “I’m single. Which is fine, because I’m sure the right person is going to come along.” Richelle decided a few years ago that if she kept telling herself that things would fall into place eventually, they would. “As for the career, I’m between jobs. Kind of. I work at a clothing store, but it’s not what I want to do. Whatever.”

Tom frowns at her a little, but doesn’t say anything, waiting for her to continue.

Richelle tosses her hair over her shoulder before she says anything else, because that always makes her feel confident “I’ve had a few things here I there. Advertisements, a modelling gig or two. I’ll get there eventually.” She doesn’t want to think about the fact that she’s closer to 30 than 20 and that 30 is old by show business standards. And it reminds her that nobody in her life really believes in her, except Gwen, not even her parents.

Tom doesn’t say anything for several moments, and Richelle considers leaving, but then he speaks. “If all else fails, you could become a gold digger.”

Richelle glares at him, getting to her feet, because of course he had to be insensitive about this. She preferred it when he wasn’t saying anything. She begins to make her way towards the door of the coffee shop, ready to ring Gwen and tell her how wrong she was about this and she owes her big time, when she feels a hand on her arm.

Richelle spins around, folding her arms across her chest. It’s Tom, of course, looking sheepish, and running a hand through his hair. She raises an eyebrow, wondering if he’ll actually give a decent apology this time, because she’s not getting coffee with him ever again.

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, Richelle. I’m not very good at this whole comforting people thing.”

She huffs, refusing to comment. He’s going to do a little bit more than that. Tom looks at his feet, biting his lip.

“And, you know, for what it’s worth, I think you’re better than the others.”

She smiles slightly, shaking her head “You don’t know the others.”

“I know you,” he says, before he frowns for several seconds “Sorry, I _knew_ you.”

She shakes her head, but bites back a grin “You’re an idiot.”

He shrugs his shoulders “I guess some things never change.”

He pays for their things, and walks her out into the street, and even offers to call a cab for her. She refuses, but squeezes his shoulder in thanks, before turning to leave.

“Wait, Rich!” He calls after her, and Richelle turns around, watching him jog after her. He hands a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled onto it, and a little picture of himself in the corner.

“If you want to continue getting to know each other again,” he gestures to the paper, seeming awkward all over again. It’s kind of cute, actually, not it matters.

“We’ll see,” Richelle replies, before turning and walking off. She may hate him, but she knows she’ll end up calling, which is an annoyance in itself. She always thought she was better than that.

* * *

The following Thursday night, she’s sitting in bed when she calls the number on the scrap of paper. It rings three times before she hears the click, and then Tom’s voice comes through the phone.

“Miss me already?”

“You know, if you’re like this with all the girls you know, there’s a reason you’re single.”

They arrange to meet up on Saturday, and Tom promises her that their destination will be a lovely surprise. He tells her not to worry, but that doesn’t really comfort her, because virtually every other surprise that’s Tom been involved with has ended badly.

She meets him at The Daily Grind that Saturday anyway, wearing her favourite coat and her hair freshly straightened.

“You don’t have to look beautiful for everything, Richelle,” he teases as he leads her to his car. He opens the door for her, and she stares at it for a moment before looking over at him.

“Is this like, your murder van?”

“Please, if I killed you, your friend from the pub will be on to me in minutes. She seems like the type.”

She narrows her eyes, placing her hand on her hip “I don’t think that’s a type.”

“C’mon, Richelle, are you going to trust me or not?”

She sighs and climbs into the car, slamming the door whilst he makes his way over to the driver’s seat. When he’s pulling away from the curb, she reminds him of one thing:

“I still don’t trust you, by the way.”

“Never expected you to.”

It turns out their surprise destination is an art gallery. Richelle, admittedly, is a little confused, considering art galleries aren’t exactly lovely surprises for her. She knows Tom must love them, because food and art are pretty much the only things he’s passionate about this, but she doesn’t see where she fits into this.

“I know this wasn’t what you were expecting,” he begins as they enter through the sliding doors, and she’s about to ask why he brought her here if that was the case when he continues “But, I figured I could educate you about something, for once. You might enjoy yourself, Princess. Also, I’ll take you to the café at the end either way, so I promise I’ll pay you back somehow.”

It’s the promise of free caffeine that causes Richelle to follow Tom through the gallery, listening as he explains certain paintings to her, but she soon finds that she’s enjoying herself.

An hour into their non-date, she finds herself picking favourite paintings and arguing about the meanings behind certain paintings. Tom may know his stuff, but Richelle’s good at understanding feelings, even if all she has to go by is a few angry lines of red paint.

Other times, she lets him ramble on, actually having to pull him away from a few pieces of art. As far back as she can remember, she’s never seen him like this, so enthusiastic, so happy, so in his element. It’s actually kind of sweet to watch, even though she tuned his actual words out early on. He knows what he’s doing here, and actually appears to be tripping less, which is good, because Richelle wouldn’t want to be caught with the guy who accidentally broke something in an art gallery.

When they’re finished, he lives up to his promise, and takes her to the café at the front of the museum. Their coffee is several dollars more expensive than it was last week, but Tom shrugs it off, although he still thinks her order is ridiculous (“What’s the point of having coffee if you’re not going to put sugar or milk in it?”)

They sit there, discussing certain features of the gallery, and every now and then, discussing certain aspects of their lives. She tells him about Gwen, the lawyer friend who gave him her number. He tells him about his friends, mainly a few people he knew from University who moved to the city. He says they’ll introduce her to them one day, and for some reason, Richelle offers to return the favour.

He takes her home in the afternoon, because it’s raining and he says that catching public transport in this weather is hell. They bicker about the music he plays on the radio and a comment she made about his shirt, and it feels like they’re fifteen again. When they pull up at her building, they sit in the heated car for a few minutes, not speaking. Finally, Richelle moves around in her seat so she’s facing him.

“You still have my number, don’t you?”

Tom nods, biting his lip “You’re saved as Princess.”

Richelle purses her lips, leaning over the shove his shoulder “When you’re not being annoying, give me a call. I’m sure you still owe me a few more drinks.”

“Are you saying you only want to hang out with me because my debt hasn’t been repaid?”

She opens the car door, shrugging one shoulder “It’s not because we’re friends.”

“Right. Of course. The world isn’t ready for a Brinkley-Moysten friendship. We’ll stick to being coffee acquaintances.”

“Perfect,” she replies, before unbuckling her seatbelt and climbing out of his car.

* * *

Richelle doesn’t know how it happens, but soon she’s spending most of her time with Tom. They get coffee every second day and see bad movies together and go out drinking together on the weekends. He takes her to a few smaller art galleries and she drags him shopping, giving him fashion advice whilst she buys new bags and shoes. They argue about everything, from the name of a character in a show they watched years ago to whose turn it is to get drinks to which Coldplay song is the best. She gives him dating advice and he tells her how to be more subtle when it comes to making harsh comments towards hairstyles. It’s weird how easy they fall into this rhythm, and in a frustrating way, Richelle finds herself enjoying his company.

He introduces her to his friends, the artsy people he’s known since college. Their names are Quinn and Alex, and they’re not her kind of people, but they’re not awful. He tells her later that they all want to know how he got such a pretty friend. She reminds him that they’re not friends.

She introduces him to her friends, and Charlotte & Tallulah thinks he’s wonderful, whilst Gwen keeps shooting Richelle knowing looks, which are more annoying than any comment Tom could ever make.

They complain to each other about work and get into stupid arguments about who has it worse, and he always caves and ends up buying her a sorbet as an apology, although she thinks he does this partly because she ends up giving him half of it. They talk about the old days, back when they were in that production of _Little Red Riding Hood_ together and that jacket she borrowed and never gave back. They never really discuss their crime solving adventures, and only mention their families when it comes up.

One day, he briefly mentions taking antidepressants and she doesn’t say much, because she doesn’t know what there is to say, but she squeezes his hand and she thinks he’ll be okay. Another night, when she’s a little drunk and he’s in her apartment for the first time, she confesses that she’s terrified that she’s going to be a failure and that everyone will be right about her, and he promises her she’s anything but. These later fall into the category of things they don’t talk about, but a part of her knows that it’s made them closer, and she makes a mental promise to check up on him as often as she can without causing questions.

It’s one of the easiest friendships Richelle’s ever been in, and that includes their questionable friendship from years ago. Maybe they needed to spend time apart, or just grow up in general, but Richelle finds it’s much easier to be his not-quite-friend now. He still makes bad jokes and bothers her a lot, but she still comments on his clothing and calls his names so she figures it’s an even trade. But they’re closer than they used to be, and it’s not long before he’s Number 2 on her speed dial and he’s drawing pictures of her that he suggest she uses instead of headshots.

They still don’t refer to each other as friends, but she decides that maybe she doesn’t hate him anymore.

* * *

“So,” Gwen begins one day when they’re out shopping, watching as Richelle tries on a sky blue coat “You and your high school boyfriend are spending a lot of time together.”

Richelle scowls at Gwen, who simply raises an eyebrow in return, which is so Nick of her that it frustrates Richelle.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend in high school,” Richelle snaps, running a hand through her hair “And he’s not my boyfriend now. We’re just-”

Richelle pauses, because she doesn’t really know how to define her relationship with Tom. They’re not friends exactly, and they never really were. They’re more _people-who-knew-each-other-when-they-were-little-and-grew-up-together-and-almost-died-together-multiple-times-when-they-were-teenagers-and-now-that-they’re-adults-they-spend-a-lot-of-time-together-but-they’re-really-just-acquaintances_ , but she’s not sure Gwen would understand that. At the very least, she’d be judgemental about it.

“Just _what_?” Gwen asks with a smirk.

“We’re nothing,” Richelle replies, taking the coat off and throwing it in Gwen’s directions “Now, make yourself useful and find the next size down.”

* * *

Tom’s walking her home one night after they had dinner together, telling her dumb jokes and making her roll his eyes at his antics. It’s spring, and it’s warm enough that they don’t need jackets, and Tom’s got his arm wrapped around her. It’s friendlier than their usual relationship, but Richelle can’t bring herself to shrug him off. She tries to ignore the thought that maybe she likes the feel of his arm wrapped around her, like maybe it’s meant to be there.

“I have an audition next week,” Richelle tells him. It’s for some weird drama set in the sixties, but it’s a step up from the likes of _Home & Away_, so she’s not complaining. She’s only going to audition for a soap opera if she gets really desperate, or if she reaches age 30 and is still unemployed.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Tom grins at her, pulling her a little bit closer “If not, I can key the casting director’s car.”

Richelle stops and pulls away from him slightly, eyebrows knitting together “You’re not really going to do that, are you?”

“No. Gwen says I can get in _a lot_ of trouble for that.”

She rolls her eyes, and is about to tell him that he shouldn’t need a lawyer to tell him that, when he leans down and kisses her, tasting of red wine and those mints she forced on him after dinner. She’s taken by surprise at first, and is actually enjoying the kiss until she realises what’s happening, and pushes him away. They’re both breathing heavily, staring at each other in the glow of the streetlights. He looks surprised, and Richelle can’t tell if it’s because he’s surprised by his actions, or surprised that she pushed him away.

“Richelle, I-” he begins, and Richelle shakes her head, holding up a hand to silence him. Then she turns and leaves, walking away into the night.

* * *

They don’t talk for a week after that, and Richelle isn’t sure if she’s happy about it or not. She’s irritated that he kissed her, but also irritated that she enjoyed it so much, and a little irritated that she hasn’t heard from him since. She figures that he’s probably giving her space for a reason, but she can’t help but wonder what this means for their relationship. Richelle may not have defined it, but she knows they’re a little more than _people-who-knew-each-other-when-they-were-little-and-grew-up-together-and-almost-died-together-multiple-times-when-they-were-teenagers-and-now-that-they’re-adults-they-spend-a-lot-of-time-together-but-they’re-really-just-acquaintances_ now.

Nevertheless, she makes herself push any and all thoughts of Tom to the back of her mind, because she has her audition to focus on. She runs lies with Gwen, Charlotte and Tallulah, and spends hours picking out the perfect audition outfit. She does a little research into the era, but sounds finds herself growing tired and spends more time studying the fashion, which she falls completely in love with. The night before, she goes to bed at a reasonable hour, dresses in the most sixties-inspired outfit she has, and arrives at her audition half an hour early. She’s determined to be the very best, but a small part of her wishes that Tom would at least have the decency to call and wish her luck. She’s not sure what their relationship is, exactly, but Richelle pretty sure the audition of a lifetime warrants a call, with or without an awkward kiss.

Gwen takes a break from work to wait for her when it’s over, and pulls Richelle into a tight hug when she leaves, beaming. She’s got a feeling that everything went perfectly, and is grinning when Gwen leads her out into the car park, where Tom Moysten sits on the hood of his old Toyota, a bouquet in his hands.

“What are you doing here?” Richelle demands, untangling her arm from Gwen and staring up at Tom through narrowed eyes. Tom holds the flowers out to her, and climbs down off his car when she refuses to take him. He turns to Gwen, who simply raises an eyebrow and refuses to move. With a grown, he turns back to Richelle.

“I’m sorry. For, uh, you know, the kiss. And not being there to wish you good luck on your audition, which I know you kicked ass at. As an apology, I swear I will key a bunch of cars if you don’t succeed, and I’ll take whatever punishment they throw at me. Also, these flowers, because I feel like this is a more ‘acceptable’ gift.” Tom holds the flowers out again, and with a sigh, Richelle takes them, flipping open the tiny card held to the ribbon with a piece of string.

_Dear: Richelle, I’m sorry I ruined whatever our relationship is by kissing you. Also, good luck on your audition, I’m sure you’ll kick ass. You’re better than the others, remember? From: Tom._

She closes the card and glares back up at him, momentarily forgetting Gwen’s presence. He looks awkward, and worried, as if the thought of her not forgiving him is a genuine concern. As if really appreciates and depends on this relationship, which is completely different to the one they had when they were younger. Maybe that’s the case. Maybe he needs her, and maybe, she needs him a little bit.

More than anything, though, Gwen refuses to pay for her coffee, and really, Richelle was sick of forking out five dollars every time she wanted a drink. If nothing else, Tom’s good for taking care of her caffeine hits.

It’s this that forces her to give in, leaning up to kiss his cheek. He’s blushing when she pulls away, like he’s sixteen instead of twenty-seven, and she knows everything’s going to be okay between them. He’s an idiot, but he’s her idiot, and this past week has been odd without him around to annoy her.

“I still have to buy you coffee to make up for it, don’t I?”

“Stop screwing up and you’ll stop having to apologize,” she says, squeezing his shoulder, and he grins that lopsided grin at her. She hates to admit it, but she’s missed seeing it the past week.

* * *

Towards the end of September, Richelle meets Joshua. He’s works at the law firm with Gwen, and he’s three years older, but he’s probably the most handsome guy Richelle’s met all year. (She’s not including Tom in this, because Tom is a totally different type of guy. Besides, she didn’t meet him this year. Not exactly.)

Joshua wears suits to work but designer polo shirts on the weekends, has a nice apartment, buys her flowers, tells her she’s beautiful without being prompted, takes her to nice places, and even starts filling Tom’s place as her resident coffee buyer. He has Gwen’s tick of approval, and when her mother calls to ask if she’s seeing anyone, she sounds impressed. Even Tom seems to like him, or at the very least pretends to for her benefit, even though he thinks that owning that many polo shirts is weird. All she says to that is _“Well, at least **his** clothes aren’t food stained.”_

She’s out with Tom one day, a week before Halloween, looking for low budget Halloween costumes because Tom’s friends invited him to a  party and he needs her help. They haven’t seen much of each other the past few month, what with Richelle’s relationship with Joshua and work schedule (her agent lined up a commercial for her, and she has a call back next week for the sixties drama), and she’s missed him. She has no intentions of telling him this, but Tom’s grown on her more in the past few months than he managed to in eleven years.

“So,” he begins, as they sort through a rack “How’s it going with you and Josh?”

Richelle shrugs, tossing a fighter pilot costume into his arms “ _Joshua_. It’s fine. We’ve only been dating like three weeks. Nothing’s official yet.”

“But he’s bought you a million flowers. Isn’t that Romance 101?”

She raises her eyebrows at him “He buys me flowers because he’s a gentleman. Besides, you bought me flowers, and it’s not as if you want to date me.” Because he doesn’t. They discussed it, briefly, and came to the conclusion that their kiss meant nothing, it was just a spontaneous thing that Tom shouldn’t have done that he regrets doing. It was the lighting and the alcohol and the fact they’d had a nice night. There were no romantic feelings involved whatsoever, and they’ve decided to define their relationship as friends and nothing more. Because that kiss meant absolutely nothing. That’s all.

“Of course not. But he _is_ dating you, so, there’s a difference. And mine were apology flowers, not like, seduction flowers.”

Richelle huffs a little, coming to a halt. She briefly considers commenting on ‘seduction flowers’, but decides it’s not worth it. Besides, Joshua keeps buying her flowers and he’s already successfully seduced her – not that Tom needs to know that. “Why are you quizzing me about this anyway?”

“I thought we were friends by now, Richelle.” Tom whines, because he turns twenty-eight in a few months but still acts like a child half the time “Don’t friends talk about their lives with each other? Their jobs? Their lovers?”

“Oh, god,” Richelle pushes past him, going to another rack “Don’t say lovers ever again. Besides, only girlfriends discuss that kind of stuff.”

“I have feelings too, Richelle. If I had a girlfriend, we’d have plenty of hearts to hearts about it.”

“But you don’t have a girlfriend,” she replies sweetly, before holding up a werewolf costume. “Maybe you should reprise your Big Bad Wolf role this Halloween?”

Tom snorts, reaching over to tuck a stray hair behind her hair, almost dropping the costumes in his arms in the process “Only if you’ll be Little Red Riding Hood again.”

* * *

Joshua can’t make it to her call back with her. He has work, and he can’t get out of it, even though he wishes he could. She believes him, of course, because Gwen works with him and she can’t get out of it for her either. Neither can Charlotte, Tallulah, nor any of Richelle’s other friends. Except Tom.

He drives her there, and says he’ll wait out the front until it’s over, listening to his music and singing at the top of his lungs. Before she slides out of the car, she reminds him that his music taste is awful and he’s tone deaf. He tells her to break a leg in return.

The call back is one of the most stressful moments of Richelle’s life, and that includes all the near-death scenarios. At least then, she could count on Sunny to save her. Now, it’s just her talent and pretty face. She tells herself that even if this doesn’t go according to plan, at least Tom’s willing to key some cars for her.

He’s still there when she gets out, slamming his palms on the steering wheel likes a drum. She climbs into the car, shaking her head in disapproval. “Nobody saw you, did they?”

“Don’t worry Rich, I’m sure when you’re a big star nobody’s gonna care that you’re friends with a wannabe rock star.”

“Emphasis on wannabe.”

He turns to her, eyes filled with curiosity “Everything go alright?”

She stares straight ahead, still too nervous to meet his eyes “They say they’ll get back to me by the end of the year. Which is like, two months, but I should be fine.”

“I’ll get to work on my key-ing skills.”

Richelle almost tells him that that’s not a word, but she lets it slide, too nervous to get into a debate like this right now. Instead, she remains silent, and Tom pulls out of the car park.

He drives her home afterwards, and because he’s her friend, and he just did her a favour, she invites him into her apartment for a drink. He’s been in there several times before, but they don’t really hang out at each other’s places all that much. It’s partly a pride thing for Richelle, but mainly because there’s not much to do at their apartments. It’s not as if they’re going to play Cluedo. Richelle doesn’t even own a board game.

He sits down on her sofa while she fixes them a class of champagne each, and they toast to her hopeful, future career.

“Thanks,” she announces, placing her glass on her coffee table, amidst magazines and various remotes “For coming with me.”

“No problem, Brinkley. I care about you. And this way you’ll remember me when you’re a millionaire. Also, you’re like…”

He trails off, and Richelle stares at him, waiting for him to finish.

“Richelle,” Tom begins again, staring down at his hands whilst he pauses for several seconds “You’re my best friend.”

She swallows, frowning slightly “ _I’m_ your best friend?”

“I know Gwen’s yours or whatever, and don’t get me wrong, I’m more surprised than anyone,” she nudges him slightly, and he turns and smiles at her “But you are my best friend, in all your golden, kinda mean glory.”

Richelle decides to ignore the mean comment and reaches over to squeeze his hand, smiling back at him.  He’s right; Gwen is her best friend and has been for years. But over the past few months, Tom’s managed to make quite an impact, and he’s a close second. “You’re not too bad yourself, Moysten.”

* * *

Halfway through December, Richelle comes to conclusion that as wonderful as Joshua is, he’s not the right guy for her. He’s got the rest of his life planned out, and she wonders if there’s a place for her in it besides being a trophy wife.

She breaks up with him on a boiling summer day, a week before Christmas. She knows it’s not the nicest thing to do, but they’ve only been dating two months, and she doesn’t want to spend Christmas Day with someone who she doesn’t see a future with. She turns twenty-eight next year, and needs to start seriously considering those kinds of things.

Joshua sighs when she tells him it’s over, running a hand over his face. “Richelle, I know you’re stressed out about the whole acting thing-”

“That’s not it,” she argues, because she’s been stressed, but that has nothing to do with her relationship with Joshua. “I just can’t be in a relationship that I can’t see going anywhere. Neither can you, I mean, you’re older than me.”

He looks offended at that, and folds his arms over his chest, and Richelle’s reminded of why she hates breaking up with people. They have a _really_ hard time accepting it.

“It’s not about Tom, is it?”

“What? Oh my god, no. Tom is a friend.” She’s not sure what’s more upsetting; the idea that she’d break up with someone to be with Tom Moysten, or the fact that Joshua suggested it. She makes a mental note to never break up with an entitled thirty year old man again.

“You have history, don’t you?” Joshua asks, and Richelle realises what Tom meant when he said the polo shirt thing was weird. It’s not very intimidating when you look like a golf coach.

“Not a romantic one,” she snaps, turning and making her way down the street away from him. She knows that if she’ll stick around she’ll be forced to get in the semantics of her relationship with Tom, and she doesn’t care that much.

 It’s not the best break up she’s ever had, but not the worst either, minus the whole implication that she has feelings for Tom thing, because she doesn’t. Tom is just. A friend. And she’s his best friend. That’s all they are, and all they’ll ever be.

Nevertheless, to spite Joshua, she invites Tom as her plus one to Gwen’s Christmas party next week. Not as a date. No, nothing like that.

* * *

Tom actually looks really, really good on the night of the party. Richelle’s never seen him in a suit before – he flat out refused to wear one to graduation or formal, because he says ties made him uncomfortable but Richelle imagined it had _something_ to do with pissing off Brian – so she didn’t know what to expect. But he looks amazing, even his tie is undone when he arrives to pick her up.

“I never learned how to tie one,” he explains, and she sighs, leaning up to do it herself.

“We had to wear ties for our uniform,” she reminds him as she works on it, breathing in his cologne. He doesn’t wear the stuff usually, because he says it’s way too expensive on his salary, but she likes it on him.

“Would you believe me if I told you I got my mum to tie it on the first day of seventh grade and just pulled it over my head for six years?”

“That’s the most believable thing I’ve heard all year,” Richelle remarks as she steps back to admire her handiwork. The tie completes the look, if she does say so herself, and it’s weird to think that this is the same Tom Moysten that used to tug ties over his head to go with his stained school shirt.

She tilts her head up and notices him watching her, with an odd smile on her face. Tilting her head to one side, she raises an eyebrow “What?”

“For lack of a better word, you look like a Princess, Richelle.”

She glances down at her dress, the one she spent months saving for. It’s from her own store, so she got a discount, but it still cost a fortune. It’s long and green, to fit with the Holiday season because there was no way she was going to wear red, and truthfully, it’s one of the best things she’s ever owned.

Looking back up at Tom, she smiles. “I thought I didn’t have to look gorgeous all the time?”

Tom groans, offering her his hand, which, after several moments of hesitation, she takes. “But you do anyway.”

When they arrive at the party, it’s already gotten off to a huge start. She sees a few familiar faces, but nobody she knows well enough, and certainly nobody that she can introduce Tom too. At least one of them is going to ask about their history, and Richelle isn’t in the mood to talk about Raven Hill tonight. Or any night, really.

“I suddenly feel very undressed,” Tom mutters, nervously tugging at his tie. Richelle slaps his hand anyway, not willing to watch him mess up her work.

“You’re in a suit. That’s more dressed up than you are every other day.”

“And you criticize my wardrobe every other day.”

“Only because your wardrobe is awful,” Richelle takes his hand, and Tom shoots her a surprised look, which she ignores “Look, it’s a party. Be normal, for once. Alright? You’re my plus one, and I can’t have you ruining my reputation.”

“Trust me, I’d never forgive myself if I ruined your reputation.”

Tom, surprisingly, manages to avoid doing great harm to her reputation. He makes a few of the guests laugh, and gets on incredibly well with Gwen’s girlfriend Beth, manages to avoid getting into a fight with a bitter Joshua, and at one point, he even allows Richelle to drag him to the dance floor.

“I can’t dance,” he argues as she gets them into position “I thought you didn’t want me to ruin your reputation.”

“It’s just swaying,” she instructs him “Surely even you can’t mess that up.”

He grumbles a little but holds her as they move back and forth to a cover of _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ by Marina  & the Diamonds. She buries her head in his shoulder and tries to ignore how natural this feels, even though Tom steps on her toes once or twice.

When the song ends, they pull away, and Richelle’s about to make somewhat of an apology when Tom frowns and points at the ceiling. Richelle follows his finger and rolls her eyes when she sees that they’re standing under mistletoe. Of course.

“We don’t have to kiss if you don’t want to. I don’t think mistletoe can force us to do that,” Tom tells her, and she frowns, holding him at arm’s length.

“Are you saying you don’t want to kiss me?”

“What? No, you’re a great kisser. I just thought that after last time, you wouldn’t want to kiss me. All that jazz about only being friends, or something.”

Richelle shakes her head in disbelief, before leaning up to kiss him. After several seconds of stunned surprise, Tom kisses her back, tightening his hold on her waist. It’s a soft, sweet kiss, but it’s one of the best Richelle’s ever had. When she pulls away, she rests her forehead against his, breathing slowly.

“Come on,” she whispers, giving him a tiny smile “Let’s get out of here.”

Richelle spends her twenty-eighth Christmas on Earth wrapped up in bed with Tom Moysten, kissing and telling stories of their teen years, and she’s happy about it. She’s with someone she cares about, someone who cares about her, a guy who’s known her for years and gives her a bracelet she remembers gushing about a few months back. It’s arguably the best Christmas she’s had in years.

(Later, when she checks her answering machine to find a message telling her she got the part on the sixties drama, she decides that it’s officially the best Christmas she’s ever had.)

* * *

 

Tom, it turns out, is full of surprises, and he ends up being the best boyfriend she’s ever had. He still bickers with her and gets on her nerves, but he also wakes her up with kisses, makes him smile, reminds her everything is going to be alright, and never fails to tells her how beautiful is (but also tells her that she’s smart, talented, kind, loyal, funny, and just the most wonderful girl he’s ever met.)

He’s not put off by her new hectic work schedule, and just says that he’s so proud of her. He still buys her coffee as often as his can, although they both know he’s repayed his debt a thousand times over by now. He draws pictures of hers that make her feel even more beautiful than usual, and tries to learn to dance for her. He lets her pick the music in the car half the time, and fails at cooking her breakfast in bed several times.

One night, about mid-March, she gets a call from her mother to talk about her job. Tom made plans to come over but got held back at work, so Richelle’s spending her evening painting her toes bright pink with the phone wedged between her shoulder and ear. Eventually, the topic of her love life comes up (her mother was very upset when she heard she broke up with Joshua), and Richelle swallows, thinking about Tom.

“I’m fine, mum. I have a boyfriend.” She says, because she’s twenty-eight in two months and doesn’t need to be embarrassed about dating Tom, who’s been nothing but good to her. Besides, her mother always liked Tom. It was Tiffany who had the problems with Richelle’s friends, Tom included.

“Oh,” Delia says, sounding a little more excited. Richelle knows her mother worries about her a lot, mainly because Tiffany and Jason seem to have their lives together, albeit in their own ways, whilst Richelle is only just getting there. “What’s he like?”

Richelle eyes the bunch of flowers on her bedside table that Tom gave her a few days ago and bites back a smile “It’s Tom.”

“Tom?”

“You know,” Richelle pauses to paint her pinky toe, and to give her mother some time to think. After a few seconds of silence, she sighs before continuing “Tom Moysten. From Raven Hill.”

“Oh!” Delia is silent for several moments, but when she talks again, she sounds brighter than before “He was always a sweet boy. I had no idea you guys still talked.”

“We didn’t for like, nine years. But we ran into each other last year and now…” Richelle shrugs, staring down at her toenails “He’s my boyfriend.”

“As long as you’re happy, dear.”

Richelle thinks about Tom, who affectionately calls her Princess and stays up until early morning going over lines with her, who watches romantic comedies with her and kisses her goodbye each morning, who does his best to get along with her friends and sends her flowers to work with a note attached reading “These are **not** seduction flowers”, who knows all about her fears, her hopes and her dreams and makes her feel genuinely loved, even if they haven’t said those three little words to each other yet.

“I’m happy. I swear.”

And for the first time in a few years, she means it.

* * *

 

They have their first big couple fight a week before his birthday. One of them made a misguided comment and they just kept adding to it, until they were screaming across the room at each other and making damn sure it hurt. She remembers calling him a pathetic failure and regretting it instantly, but he had stormed out before she’d had the chance to apologise.

For the next five minutes, she stand there, shaking in the middle of her living room before she bursts into tears. She and Tom have fought before, and have been fighting since they were about seven years old, but none of those fights really meant anything. They were petty little arguments, things that Richelle was used to, things she and Tom still have to this day.

But this fight was more than that, meant more than that, and Richelle can’t help but feel she just lost the best relationship she’s ever had before it’s really begun. If she loses Tom as a boyfriend, she’s also going to lose him as a friend, and he’s only been back in her life for a year but Richelle’s not quite sure what she’d do without him.

She considers calling him, but she knows they both need time to chill out and calm down, and Tom wouldn’t break up with her without having a proper conversation. She knows that much, but it’s a small comfort right now, and Richelle finds herself crawling into her empty bed and wanting to cry all over again. She’s thankful that she doesn’t have work tomorrow, because she knows she’s going to be a mess. Vaguely, she wonders when Tom Moysten, of all people, started having this effect on her.

She doesn’t call any of her friends or her mothers, and falls into a restless sleep wearing one of Tom’s shirts, hoping that they’re going to be okay. She hasn’t said it yet, because she’s waiting for the right time (also, she doesn’t want to go first), but Richelle knows that she’s in love with him. She’s in love with Tom Moysten, and is terrified of losing him. If only her sixteen year old self could see her now.

When she wakes up the next morning, she feels worse than ever, and stumbles out into the living room. She left her phone out there last night when she threw it at him in a fit of anger, and she needs to see if he called.

Richelle doesn’t even get a chance to start looking before she comes across Tom, asleep on her couch in his clothes from yesterday. Frowning slightly, she kneels down in front of him, swallowing thickly. She doesn’t want to think about how they could be discussing their official break up as soon as she nudges him awake, but she knows she can’t put it off.

“Tom,” she announces, leaning over to shake his shoulder “Wake up. We have to talk about last night.”

Tom groans, lifting his head slightly and squinting at her. He’s a mess, but he’s her mess, and she can’t lose him. He lets out a yawn, before propping his head on the arm of her couch “Am I buying you coffee now or later?”

Richelle laughs at that, but it’s a comfort, because if he’s offering to buy her coffee, it means they’re not going to break up. And right now, that’s all she needs. “Later. First, we need to talk. And find my phone.”

* * *

 

Richelle turns twenty-eight three weeks later, two weeks after Tom does, at a party thrown by Gwen. She’s wearing a blue cocktail dress and he’s wearing a matching shirt, and she’s surrounded by the few people she loves and the other people she tolerates. She’s a year closer to thirty but she doesn’t mind, not as much as she did when she turned twenty-seven. She’s with someone she loves, she has a job that’s her big break, and her best friend has been less arrogant this year. She’s good. She’s happy.

She dances with everyone, from Tom to Gwen to Beth to Bellamy, who plays her love interest in the show but who Tom thinks is the greatest guy ever. They bonded like crazy when Tom had his birthday, and Richelle thinks that he loves Bellamy more than she does.

Afterwards, Tom takes her home, giving her full control of the radio station and telling a few genuinely good jokes to make her laugh. He sits and waits in the bedroom whilst she calls her mum, despite the fact that it’s two am. It’s a short call, but Delia wishes her a Happy Birthday and telling her to say hi to Tom, before she hangs up.

All things considered, it’s not a bad birthday.

She makes her way to the bedroom and finds Tom waiting for her, her present in his hands. She opened all her others earlier, but Tom said his had to wait until later, when they were back at her place.

“Took you long enough,” she sighs, sitting down on the bed beside him. He’s still wearing his clothes from the party, but he’s loosened his tie, which Richelle did for him, of course. She leans over to kiss his cheek, and he laughs a little.

“You don’t have to seduce me to get your gift, Princess,” he jokes, and she slaps his shoulder. Tom wraps an around her, kissing her temple before handing her the gift. “No card, but we’ll talk after. And be warned, this has been a gift like, fifteen years in the making.”

 _That_ worries her a little, and she frowns as she unwraps it to reveal a leather bound A3 book. She frowns at Tom, who gives a shrug.

“Do you remember when we were teenagers and I used to just, draw all the time? Like, I dunno, I think it was the only thing that really made me happy. Well this, is every picture I’ve drawn of you that I can remember. Minus the joking ones. And I mean this in a totally not creepy way. Also, there’s like, a nine year gap, because drawing you when we didn’t talk would’ve been weird.”

Richelle swallows as she begins to flick through the pages, the dates ranging from back when they were thirteen to last week. It’s large and heavy, and it’s a little odd, but she loves it. She loves him.

“Tom, I-”

“Before you criticize me, just know this. I love you, Richelle. A lot. Despite the fact that you insult my clothes regularly and don’t laugh at half my jokes, and pretty much know every single embarrassing thing I’ve done growing up, I love you. Because you’re out of my league and hands down the best woman I’ve ever met. Happy Birthday, Brinkley.” He leans down to kiss her temple again, but she shifts, reaching up to give him a long kiss on the lips.

When she pulls away, she smiles at him, wiping away a tear “I love you too. You make bad jokes, and you’re insensitive, but I love you. Thank you, for this, and for loving me, and for surprising me this past year. Thanks for everything, Moysten.”

Tom grins, leaning down to kiss her again “My pleasure, Brinkley.”

* * *

 

Her show is a hit.

It’s not her show, exactly, but she calls it that, because it makes her feel glamorous, and really, that’s Richelle’s favourite feelings. It gets brilliant reviews, and not just from TV Guide, but from most places. Tom makes a collage of them all, printing them off or cutting them out of magazines and sticking them to a canvas. He tells her he’ll give it to her as a Christmas present.

Even Tiffany, who Richelle rarely speaks to, calls her up to say how impressed she is. She watches every episode curled up with Tom, who tells her that he’s lucky to have the most talented girl as his girlfriend, and she rolls her eyes, but he knows she appreciates it. She finally feels as if she’s a million miles away from Raven Hill, even if Tom reminds her of that place. She finds that with him, she doesn’t mind.

Bellamy and the show runners think the show can achieve international success, and really, it’s everything Richelle’s been waiting for her whole life. Gwen buys her a bottle of expensive champagne and they all watch the finale together. Tom pretends to be dramatically shocked by the cliff-hanger, even though he read the script with her months ago.

They get picked up for a second season, and they begin having talks about getting it overseas, to the UK and the USA. Proper magazines and television networks start wanting to interview her Richelle, and Tom spends hours watching her sort through her clothes, trying to find the perfect outfit to wear for all her appearances, only complaining once every half an hour. She promises he’ll get his own turn in the art spotlight one day, and he tells her that he’s fine being a trophy husband.

(He’s only joking, and they’re not even married, but Richelle thinks that one day, they could be.)

She gets asked, sometimes, if she’s seeing anyone. Tom’s still unknown to the public eye, preferring to spend his days doing art or hanging out with his friends if she’s busy, and they’re both comfortable with that. It works for them, but Richelle still finds it odd when she gets asked if there’s someone special in life. She’s been preparing for interviews since she was twelve years old, and she’s good at it, except with this question.

In the end, she tells them all the same thing. That she has a boyfriend who’d prefer to remain out of public eye, but he’s an artist and they’re very much in love. TV Week makes a big deal out of this, but really, Richelle doesn’t see what the fuss is about. It’s not _that_ scandalous.

Still, she wonders if anyone she knew back in high school put two and two together. She’s sure _they’re_ bound to find it scandalous.

* * *

 

The next year passes by quickly, and soon enough, Richelle finds herself making plans for Tom’s twenty-ninth birthday.

Tom did end up giving her the collage for Christmas, as well as a pair of earrings Gwen helped him pick out ‘just in case.’ His strips got picked up for one of the bigger National newspapers, and he’s doing alright, despite still living in the same apartment. Richelle’s gotten international success, and they’re about to wrap up filming for the second season. She’s finally where she wants to be, and just bought her dream apartment a few weeks ago, and is moving in as soon as she finalizes a few things.

Tom’s never been huge on parties, so a group of them end up going to that pub where he spilled beer all over Richelle’s feet almost two years ago now. It seems like much longer than that, and Richelle finds it strange that everything fell into place so quickly. Not that she’s complaining. She wouldn’t give any of it up for the world.

Richelle orders a cake (his favourite, triple chocolate, because Tom) and has it delivered to the pub and Bellamy treats them all to the finest alcohol they offer, which is actually just the beer they all have in their fridges at home, but they toast to Tom as if it’s the finest wine. Tom keeps an arm wrapped around her the entire night, and even though he makes a mess when he tries to eat cake with one hand, she doesn’t complain. Much. Thankfully, nothing gets on her dress.

He takes her back to his apartment, which seems to be getting worse and worse every year, partly because Tom’s landlord is awful, and partly because he keeps accumulating pointless things and is running out of space. Sometimes she’s worried that he’s going to become a hoarder.

“So,” Tom asks as he shuts the door behind him, taking off his jacket and reaching over to grab Richelle’s hand “Are you my birthday present? Because as much as I love you, Richelle, I’m n-”

“No,” Richelle shakes her head, leading him over to his old red couch “I’ve got something else.”

“Oooh, suspense,” Tom teases, tilting his head against the back of the couch. Richelle rolls her eyes, before tugging his gift out of her purse and handing it to him.

“Happy Birthday.”

Tom opens the small velvet box, grinning when he sees what’s inside. “Richelle, are you giving me permission to key cars as a birthday gift?”

“What? No, although you’ve got to stop wanting to vandalise things,” she sighs, sitting down beside him and placing a hand on his thigh “It’s a key to my apartment.”

Tom turns to her, eyebrows knitted together in confusion “I appreciate the sentiment, but I already have a key to your apartment, remember?”

“You have a key to my old apartment. This,” Richelle plucks the key from his hand, and holds it up to him “Is a key to our new apartment.”

“You bought me an apartment for my birthday? Well, I don’t think I’ll top that, so kudos, Rich,” he smirks.

“No, I’m asking you to move in with me for my birthday. And kind of the apartment, but you’re still paying rent when we live together.” She swallows, frowning when doesn’t speak for several moments “You do want to live together, right?”

Tom leans over and kisses her swiftly, making Richelle forget all her fears and doubts “Princess, there is nothing I want more than to live with you. It’s going to make buying you apology coffees so much easier.”

She giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck “I don’t think you have to call them apology coffees anymore, Tom.”

“Do you want me to stop providing you with free coffee each day?” Tom asks, pulling away to smirk at her.

“Of course not,” she retorts, shaking her head at the idea “It’s routine, isn’t it? Besides, I’m sure you’ll have to apologize for something eventually.”

He shrugs, pulling her closer “As long as you forgive me.”

* * *

 

Richelle wakes up on the morning of her 30th Christmas on Earth in a beautiful apartment, curled up with her boyfriend and the man she loves. He’s still asleep when she wakes up, even though she’s usually the one who sleeps in and he attempts to make breakfast. After two years, he’s gotten quite good at waffles, but almost set fire to their kitchen the last time he tried to make omelettes.

She leans over and kisses him, and he groans a little, but it doesn’t take long for him to kiss her back, smiling into it. When she breaks away, she beams at him.

“Happy Anniversary,” she whispers, and he grins back, reaching up to run a hand through her hair.

“Merry Christmas,” he retorts, “And Happy Late Anniversary, considering we officially started dating on Christmas Eve.”

She rolls off him, before sitting up in bed to stare down at him. He’s giving her his lazy, lopsided smile, and she can tell he’s on the brink of laughter “Way to kill the moment.”

“It’s what I do best.”

Richelle rolls her eyes and climbs out of bed, tugging on her robe and squinting at the bright rays of sunlight bleeding through the curtains. Next year, she’s dragging Tom to the Northern Hemisphere for Christmas. Sunlight and barbeques don’t exactly scream White Christmas.

“Since you’re up before me, does that mean you’re bringing me breakfast in bed?” Tom asks, and Richelle turns to face him with a smirk.

“You wish.”

His laughter follows her as she makes her way out of their room, and soon enough he does too, filled with as much Christmas cheer as a six year old, Santa hat included. Both of them love Christmas, but Tom gets really into it, in a way that makes Richelle love him that much more. This year, he dragged her out to find a real Christmas tree, which he said he always wanted but Brian always forbid it, and there was just never any room in their old place. It stands in the corner of their living room now, decorated with odd decorations that somehow work, mainly thanks to Richelle’s careful instruction.

They call their families, and wish them all a Merry Christmas with promises of a proper conversation before the year is up. They have plans to meet up with friends later, but for the next few hours, it’s just going to be the two of them, which is a nice enough gift in herself.

“Okay,” Tom says leading Richelle to the centre of the living room “Remember when I said I’d never top your birthday gift to me this year?”

“Yes,” Richelle replies, frowning at him. He’s basically jumping up and down, which is sweet, but she’s a little worried about the context of this gift.

“I think I might be about to,” he announces, grinning at her. Richelle’s eyebrows knit together as she stares at him.

“Really?” she asks, a little offended. She prides herself on her ability to give great gifts, and Tom knows this. He better hope his gift is amazing.

“Really. Just,” he rubs his hands up and down her arms “Close your eyes, okay? Trust me.”

“When has trusting you ever gotten me anywhere?” She retorts, and Tom winks.

“It go you into this relationship.”

She huffs, but closes her eyes, listening as Tom moves around her. She trusts him, of course, more than anyone else, but still, she’s a little tense. Especially when she hears him whisper “shit”, which, if nothing else, probably isn’t appropriate for the holiday season.

“Tom? What did you do?”

“I, uh, dropped it.”

“Dropped what?” Richelle demands, opening her eyes in a fit of frustration, only to find Tom, picking up a ring from beneath their couch and holding it out to her.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, raising a hand to her mouth. She half expects Taylor Swift to start playing in the background with some catchy 2008 song.

“See, this is why I requested for your eyes to be closed,” Tom sighs, before clearing his throat “Okay, look, Richelle. I’ve known you for pretty much my whole life, and even though we went for like, nine years without talking, you know me better than anyone else. You’ve seen me dressed as wolf that’s dressed as a grandmother, you’ve seen me soaking wet from a drowning attempt, you’ve seen me in a suit looking out of place at your friend’s Christmas party. Yet you still stick around me, still love me, even though you know my faults better than anyone. Myself included. You’re the most beautiful, talented, extraordinary woman I’ve ever met, and that includes all the celebrities you’ve introduced me to. You make me wanna be a better guy, Rich, and I guess what I’m saying is I love you, and I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you. That’s what, two more thirds of my life, or something?”

Richelle rolls her eyes at the last statement, because of course Tom Moysten would say something like that in a proposal. But she doesn’t focus on it for long, she focuses on everything else, because she loves him, and she wants this, more than anything.

“Yes.”

Tom beams, getting to his feet and kissing her, knocking his Santa hat to the floor in the process. As he slips the ring on to her finger, she can’t help but feel glad her friends dragged her to that shitty pub two and a half years ago, because if nothing else, it brought Tom back into her life.

“You know what we should do,” Tom says when she pulls away, wiping the tears off his face “Track down the gang and invite them to the wedding. I mean, I think I promised Sunny years ago that she could be my Best Woman when I got married.”

“Thomas Moysten, I swear to god, if you proposed to me just so you could have Sunny Chan appear at our wedding-”

Tom laughs, and kisses her forehead. “You know I don’t plan that far ahead, Rich. But I’ll sort an apology out anyway.”

As much as Richelle hates it when Gwen is right, she can’t help but feel a little thankful this time. She supposes that getting to know Tom again wasn’t the worst thing to happen to her. Maybe, just maybe, it’s even the best.

**Author's Note:**

> So, at 2am on the 22nd, I thought to myself, hey, what if I wrote future!Tom/Richelle fic? This was not the original idea, and my original plan was much shorter and set at various times over like, ten years, but here we are. This was finished at 4am on the 23rd, and really, I have no excuses. I don't know anything about acting life or being twenty-seven or anything, really, and also I'm not even sure the timeline makes sense, but I don't know, it's a work of fiction? This got out of hand way too fast, and I apologise to everyone. Emily Rodda, my friends, and anyone else who is bound to read it. I hope you can find something in this mess that you'll enjoy.  
> Title is from a Kevin Devine song of the same name.  
> For my crew, as always  
> xx setsunsas


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